The Walk On (37 page)

He nodded and told her as he took her coat. “O-positive. Why’s it matter?”

Christine whooped and seemed ready to jump out of her skin. “It matters because you’re innocent—and we can prove it!”

“What?” Alex asked. “How? Why?”

“Because the blood type on the sample that came up positive is
O-negative
,” Christine said. “It can’t possibly be your blood!”

Alex gaped at her for a moment and then wrapped her in a hug that might have been a little too tight. When she squeaked, he let her go and grinned.

“So … so someone really just made a mistake?”

Christine’s smile faded. “Or,” she said, “someone didn’t.”

They sat in Alex’s kitchen with mugs of hot chocolate and Christine explained that she had called a football coach last night whose name had been given to her by Dick Jerardi, a longtime
Daily News
columnist. Christine had told the coach she was convinced something was amiss with Alex’s test, and he said he’d see what—if anything—he could find out.

The coach’s athletic director sat on the board of the state high school athletic association—part of the reason Jerardi had recommended calling him. It was the AD who had called Christine back that afternoon.

“He can’t be quoted on any of this,” she said. “He said he’d look into it as a courtesy to his coach but he doubted there would be anything to find because a positive test is almost never a mistake.”

“So how am I off the hook?”

“I’m trying to tell you. He called me back a little while
ago and said he had the Chester Heights results in front of him. He said occasionally there’s a false positive if a kid has an unusually high testosterone level naturally. But that yours was sky-high.

“I told him we’d heard that and it was one reason we were suspicious. You’re not an offensive lineman who weighs three hundred pounds.

“He agreed that seemed weird, but that the test was clear—the only thing unusual about it was that you had O-negative blood,” Christine said. “I asked him why that was significant and he said it really wasn’t, except that O-negative blood is rare. He could see that only four Chester Heights players had O-negative blood. I looked it up and less than ten percent of the U.S. population has O-negative blood. So I thought it was worth asking if you had it.”

“But I don’t.”

“Exactly!” Christine said. “Which means it wasn’t your blood that tested positive.”

“But … 
someone
from the team with O-negative blood did test positive, right?”

Christine nodded. “Yes. And once we establish that you
aren’t
the person who tested positive, they’re going to have to figure out who
is
. But that comes later.
First
, we prove to the state it wasn’t your blood and clear your name.
Then
we find out how this happened.”

According to Christine, Chester Heights would have to file a formal appeal on his behalf. Since the appeal would be
based on the fact that he didn’t have the same blood type as the blood that had come back positive, Alex would have to produce proof of his blood type and then submit to another blood test because they would want to see proof that his
real
blood was clean. Once that was established, he would be cleared.

“Great!” Alex said. “Can I take the test tomorrow, before the game?”

“You can take the test, yes,” Christine said. “You’ll have to go to Harrisburg, which is where the state athletic association has its headquarters. Since you are appealing, the responsibility lies with you to get the documentation, bring it to them, and be tested.”

“But if I pass the test, can I be cleared in time to play?”

Christine shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry—it takes nearly a week to get the results back—three or four days if they rush it. There isn’t time.”

Alex sagged. For a split second he had seen himself in uniform for the game in Allentown, cleared of all wrongdoing and helping the team win. He knew the team was boarding a bus to Allentown at lunchtime tomorrow. He wouldn’t be going with them.

He drained the last of his cocoa and tried to think of something else. “How do you think this happened? The vials must have been mislabeled, right?”

Christine crossed her arms. “Yeah,” she said. “But that’s not supposed to be possible. Unless someone who has possession of the blood samples does it on purpose.”

“Why would anyone do that?” Alex asked.

Christine shrugged. “That’s a good question. If we figure out why, we might figure out who.… We figure that out, we solve the mystery.”

Alex and Christine explained the situation to his mom when she and Molly got home that night.

The more Christine talked, the more Alex’s mom smiled, and in the end she wrapped Christine in a hug nearly as tight as her son’s. “Thank you!” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Christine grinned, clearly pleased, and said she should get going.

Alex tried to call his dad to give him an update. He knew his mom had filled him in because he’d gotten a text that morning saying,
Hang in there, this will get straightened out
.

When Alex got his voice mail, he didn’t bother leaving a message. If his dad cared, he’d see the number and call back.

Meanwhile, his mom was trying to track down Mr. White, the principal. He’d left for the day, but his email was in the school’s online directory, so she sent him an email with the subject line “URGENT—PLEASE CALL RIGHT AWAY.”

About thirty minutes later, Mr. White called and Alex’s mom explained that they needed a meeting first thing in the morning because they had proof that a mistake had been made with Alex’s drug test and they needed the school to file an official appeal.

Alex could only hear his mom’s side of the conversation.

“No, Mr. White, this
can’t
wait,” she said. “We need to see you first thing in the morning, before school starts.”

She paused, nodding. “Of course,” she said. “That’s perfectly fine. He should be aware of what’s going on too. But I’m told I need your signature on the letter requesting the appeal.”

Another nod as she listened. “Fine, we’ll see you at seven o’clock.”

She hung up.

“He thinks Coach Gordon should be there too,” she said.

“Why?” Alex said. “He has to sign the appeal note, not Coach Gordon.”

“I know,” she said. “But he said since it was a football issue in addition to a school issue, Coach Gordon should be there. I said fine.”

She paused for a moment. “I don’t think we should tell them what proof we have,” she said finally. “All we have to do is say we want a retest.”

Alex was surprised. “You don’t trust him?” he said.

“Right now,” she said, “I don’t trust any of them.”

There was steel in her voice when she said it, a kind of steel Alex couldn’t remember ever hearing before. He suspected Mr. White was going to have a tough morning.

They dropped Molly off at her school early and got to Mr. White’s office at 6:57. Mr. White’s assistant told them she would let the principal know they were here and offered Alex’s mom some coffee.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she answered. “It’s 6:58. I hope we’re going to get started on time.”

Whoo, boy, thought Alex.

Mr. White opened his door at 7:01, just as his mom was looking at her watch again, and waved them in. Coach Gordon was already inside and he stood and shook her hand.

“Did Mrs. Appleman offer you coffee?” Mr. White asked as they all sat down.

“Yes, she did. Thanks.”

Mr. White looked at Coach Gordon. Clearly, there had been a discussion about how to handle the meeting.

Coach Gordon leaned forward and smiled. Alex wasn’t sure if he had ever actually seen the coach smile before.

“Mrs. Myers, this has, of course, been upsetting for all of us …,” he began.

“Not as upsetting for you, Coach, or for you, Mr. White, as it’s been for my son and for me,” Alex’s mom said.

Tone set. Message delivered.

Coach Gordon’s smile faded.

“I understand that,” he said. “Believe me, we need Alex on the field tonight. But the charge against him is—”

“False,” said Alex’s mom. “And we’re leaving for Harrisburg to prove it just as soon as Mr. White signs the letter of appeal on school letterhead that we are required to bring with us. That’s what we’re here for, Coach. Not for coffee
or
conversation.”

Coach Gordon looked at Mr. White.

“Mrs. Myers, we’re one hundred percent behind you even if overturning a test like this is a long shot. And I will gladly sign the appeal letter—”

“Good.”

“But we want you to understand what’s involved. First,
you’ll be required to pay for the costs involved. It could be as much as five hundred dollars.”

“You don’t think I’d pay five hundred dollars to clear my son of a baseless charge?” she asked.

Alex was, at that moment, in complete awe of his mother.

“Of course you would. And I’m just trying to make you aware of everything involved. But I should ask you, with all due respect, are you
sure
the charge is baseless? I have no doubt Alex didn’t intentionally take an illegal substance, but as you know—”

Alex’s mom stood up. “Mr. White, you’re wasting my time. How long will it take you to write the letter of appeal and sign it?”

Mr. White looked at Coach Gordon. He appeared to be staring at something on the wall behind Mr. White’s desk.

“Can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“I’d prefer ten,” she said. “We’ll wait outside. And yes, I’d like some coffee now while we wait.”

Alex hadn’t opened his mouth during the whole meeting.